


Vocabulary Prank

by Prodigal_anon



Series: Reverse Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hunter!Cas, M/M, Tickling, angel!dean, pre-destiel, reverse verse, ticklish!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8022289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prodigal_anon/pseuds/Prodigal_anon
Summary: Cas, a hunter, is still adjusting to the angel Dean's new presence in his life.  This time, it's the way Dean turns up in Cas's bed, still wearing shoes.





	Vocabulary Prank

     Castiel is brushing his teeth when the lights dim briefly and come back on again. He hears noisy stomping and whistling and knuckles rapping along the furniture behind him in the main part of the motel room, and a familiar voice muttering loudly about what’s on “the tube,” and the TV turning on, and then the channels flicking through until he hears the regrettably just-as-familiar voice of Dr. Sexy. Castiel’s lips twitch up in spite of himself.

 

     He finishes with his teeth and rinses his mouth from the glass of water he keeps next to the sink, and says “Hello, Dean,” turning to see the angel in question lying sprawled across the bed with his shoes and jacket still on.

 

     It’s Dean’s new habit now of giving Castiel as much heads-up as possible that he’s about to arrive. This was born of a recent accident that took place in the bunker. Then, Dean had done his old trick of appearing less than a foot away, smirk already firmly in place even though no interaction had occurred yet, taking a little bit of delight in spooking Castiel. Unfortunately, at the time, Castiel had been pan-frying burgers in hot oil and had startled, overturning the pan onto himself and burning his skin badly with the oil. The pain had been excruciating, though it had only lasted for mere seconds before Dean’s hands had laid over the burns and then it was as though it never happened.

     

     Or almost as though it never happened. The instant of fear and pain, combined with the vulnerability of knowing that Dean could be in his space with no effort and nothing at all that Castiel could do about it, had made Castiel do something very rare for him, and start raging at Dean for probably ten minutes about personal space and how the angel couldn’t just DO shit like that, shouting into Dean’s wide-eyed face until he ran out of steam and stormed off to the library to pace and fume alone.

 

     He’d emerged later to find a plate stacked high with Jucy Lucys, the best burgers in the nation according to a note in Dean’s messy and archaic handwriting, proclaiming he’d found this information by Googling it. Castiel had eaten two, and had given the others to Dean with an apology for his temper when he prayed for the angel to return.

     

     But since then, Dean has always made a point of teleporting in a minimum of ten feet away from Castiel, and making as much noise as he can, so Castiel can’t really quarrel with the results, though he still wishes the angel could manage to knock and enter the room like Castiel’s told him at least a thousand times.

 

     Now, Dean turns the force of his grin over to Castiel and waves vaguely. “Cas! Get over here! The marathon’s just started!”

 

     Castiel sighs heavily, at Dean and his nicknames and his strange obsession with the television doctor drama. “You’re taking up the entire bed, Dean. And you’re still wearing your boots,” he adds reproachfully, though he approaches anyway. He finds it difficult not to be drawn closer to the man – to the angel. The charismatic magnetism is almost like a physical pull.

 

     The physical pull becomes real as Dean catches his wrist and tugs lightly. “C’mon, man. You’re only tiny anyway; you won’t take up any space!”

 

     Dean laughs as Castiel scowls. This amuses Dean to no end: Castiel was accustomed to being the tallest of his siblings, substantially outstripping Gabriel and Anna and just managing to edge past Balthazar. He isn’t quite able to hide his annoyance that Dean has a few inches on him, and the angel’s inscrutable brother Sam towers over them all. Dean, of course, picked up on it almost as soon as the awareness had entered Castiel’s mind.

 

     Castiel forces himself to frown at Dean in disapproval. He often feels a sense of awe around the angel – awe that, of the two of them, Castiel should be the serious and mature one. “Your boots, Dean. It’s unhygienic.”

 

     “Oh, it’s unhygienic,” Dean repeats in a nasally mocking voice, eyes sparkling in amusement. “It’s so gross and unhygienic! Dude, you basically spend all day covered in monster guts!” Dean succeeds in yanking Castiel down onto the bed next to him.

 

     “I don’t sleep in monster guts though, and I’d prefer not to sleep in dirt, either,” Castiel informs him with a roll of his eyes, attempting to push Dean off and shove the offending boots off the bedspread.

 

     Dean scoffs and doesn’t budge. He can weigh a surprising amount when he wishes to, even considering his larger frame. “Cas, you are _far_ too fussy for a hunter. Don’t be such a little pansified.”

 

     Castiel gapes at him, momentarily forgetting about the boots, and then bites his lip hard against the laughter threatening inside him. Dean notices, of course.

 

     “What? What?? Which damn word this time? Pansified? That little _shit_ Gabriel! I swear he is going to get it - ” and Dean carries on in a tirade as Castiel’s shoulders shake because this happens now, Gabriel uses a word of his own invention or a pop culture reference slightly out of context, just casting his net to see if he can catch Dean trying to pick it up as slang. Gabriel takes a bit of pride in trolling the angel this way - his best feat so far has been getting Dean to call the cheap vinyl seats in a restaurant “farters.”

 

     Castiel takes deep shuddering breaths until he can calmly say “All right, Dean, I’ll stop being such a pansified.”

 

     Dean’s eyes narrow at him. “You know, here’s another reason you should just stop - being a pansified and just get used to the dirt. Because - ” here he grabs Castiel’s nearest ankle - “keeping your shoes off carries some risks, doesn’t it?”

 

     Castiel’s smirk is gone in a flash. “Dean. Don’t. Don’t take this out on m-meeheehee shit stoppit stoppit ahhahaha!!!”

 

     Now Dean’s got the smirk and Castiel’s dissolved into helpless giggles as he uselessly tries to pull his foot away. “Aw, lookit this. Ticklish lil’ Cas. Got you to swear already! Does this tickle, Castiel?”

 

     Castiel can’t answer because he’s squealing as Dean’s fingers wiggle devilishly up and down his bare feet, scribbling lightly at the arch for a minute before poking at all the scrunching toes, pulling Castiel’s foot further away and leaving the hunter to alternately flail and pound Dean’s bulk with his fists, and spasm into a helpless ball on the mattress. It isn’t fair, he’s _so_ ridiculously ticklish, and as though it wasn’t enough to have two older brothers growing up, but now he’s got a being of cosmic power and a big-brother complex who thinks that human ticklishness is the pinnacle of the species’ appeal.

 

     "Dean f-fuck, st-ahahhp, it eeeeheek it ahahahaha nohohoho” he babbles through his laughter, trying to push away from Dean with his free leg and failing utterly.

 

     “Let’s hear that sweet high note of yours first and then I’ll stop, ‘kay? Where was the spot… hmm… oh, it was here, wasn’t it?” Fingertips delicately torment the ball of his foot and Castiel shakes his head, tears rolling down his face.

 

     “No? But I swore - oh right, it wasn’t _just_ this spot, I had to use my _nails_ …” and Castiel shrieks and flails and lands a solid desperate kick to Dean’s ribcage.

 

     Dean chuckles and stops, pulling Castiel’s foot up to give it a bristly kiss on the sole that makes Castiel’s entire leg twitch, before letting it drop. Castiel immediately rolls up and tucks his legs beneath him, still giggling. “Cutest thing I’ll ever see. Don’t ever change, Cas.”

 

     "Assbutt,” Castiel mutters defiantly but affectionately, referring to the first insult that Dean messed up. This is playing with fire, he knows, given what set off the assault in the first place, but Dean (somewhat disappointingly) only snorts at him and leans back on the bed.

 

     “Now that I wore you out, let’s watch some Dr. Sexy already,” he says with maddening cheerfulness, pulling Castiel back against the headboard, and Castiel lets him, because defying an angel seems to be beyond him tonight.


End file.
